


Midnight Snack

by TheseusInTheMaze



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternating between oral sex and kissing pregnant belly, Cunnilingus, F/F, Pregnant Character is Just Starting to Show, Pregnant Sex, Vaginal Fingering, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-17 15:41:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28727520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheseusInTheMaze/pseuds/TheseusInTheMaze
Summary: The Doctor had something important to tell Clara. Pity she does so in the middle of the night.
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/Clara Oswin Oswald
Comments: 8
Kudos: 30
Collections: Bulletproof 20/21





	Midnight Snack

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shamebucket](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shamebucket/gifts).



Clara opened her bedroom door, blearily blinking at the figure who had been banging on it for the past five minutes. She had hoped, in some distant sort of way, that her _not answering_ might send the message, but the Doctor had never been good at picking up on subtle cues. 

He’d been bad at it when he wore a bowtie and gangled around like a stork, he’d been bad at it when he had thick eyebrows and a Scottish accent, and she was bad at it now, with her blond hair and blue coat. 

“Clara,” the Doctor said, and she sounded as thrilled to see Clara as ever, “I was going to tell you something!”

“Were you?” Clara blinked at her, rubbed her eyes. “What was so important that you had to wake me up?”

“You’re getting _fat_ ,” the Doctor said, taking Clara in. Her eyes lingered over the curve of Clara’s belly, where the tank top’s hem slid down and the waistband of her pajama bottoms fit snugly under the round of it. Clara pulled her cardigan tighter around herself, hugging it across her middle. 

“You woke me up to tell me that I’m getting fat?” Clara yawned. “This could have waited until breakfast.” Her back hurt, and she was _tired_. They hadn’t been running this time - thankfully - but there had been a lot of peace negotiations, and it really was amazing how tired you could get from just standing around talking to people. Even if those people were like six legged elephants and drank entirely too much barley water. 

“How are you getting so fat?” The Doctor shouldered past Clara, walking into the bedroom and flipping the lights on. It was always odd how out of place she looked in Clara’s room, considering it was _her_ TARDIS. 

“Doctor,” Clara said, and she yawned, her jaw cracking, “we talked about this. I’m pregnant.” 

The Doctor paused. “Did we?” She wrinkled her nose, and that shouldn’t have been half as cute as it was. Especially at _this_ hour.

“Yes,” said Clara. “We did.” Her head was starting to pound. 

“When?” The Doctor raked a hand through her hair. “Oh, no, wait, when you were heaving over the -”

“Yes,” Clara said, before the Doctor could continue that line of conversation. “And also yesterday, because you made sure I got second helpings and said I was eating for two.”

“I did say that,” the Doctor agreed, and she smacked herself in the forehead. “Well. I feel like a right idiot now.” 

“Why did you wake me up?” Clara put a hand on her lower back, digging her knuckles in. If she was sore _now_ , how bad would it be once she actually got properly far along? 

“I had something to tell you,” the Doctor repeated. “Something important.” 

“What kind of something important?” Clara rubbed her palms across her belly, and rocked absently on her heels. Then she stopped, because it jostled her breasts, which were far too tender for any of that nonsense, and she wasn't even wearing a bra. 

"You know," the Doctor said, "I can't remember anymore." She shrugged. "Can't have been that important."

Clara groaned. "Doctor," she said, "we talked about this." 

"Sorry, Clara," the Doctor said, and she looked genuinely apologetic. "Let me make it up to you," she added brightly.

Clara blinked at her, and she rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands. "What?" 

"Make it up to you," the Doctor said, and she took Clara by the hand, leading her towards the bed. "Since I woke you up like that." 

"Doctor," Clara mumbled, but she let herself be led back to bed. "Go to bed." 

"I have," the Doctor said, and she sat at the foot of the bed, pulling her boots off. Her socks were very blue, and her ankles were pale enough that they glowed. She shrugged out of her coat as well, and left it draped over the footboard of Clara's bed. "I'm on a bed, aren't I?"

Clara got herself comfortable, pillows under her back, her cardigan falling open. Her belly stuck out just enough that she could notice it, and she ran a soothing hand over it. "That's not what I meant," she murmured, but she was already getting comfortable enough not to complain too hard. "Don't you have your own bed?"

"Why would I need one of them?" The Doctor tugged on Clara's feet, pulling them into her lap, and she leaned back against Clara's footboard. 

Clara raised an eyebrow, and she wrinkled her nose when the Doctor pulled her socks off. "To sleep in," Clara said, and she nudged the Doctor with the tip of one toe.

"Bah," the Doctor said, waving a hand. She began to rub Clara's foot, her strong thumbs digging into the sole of Clara's foot, and Clara bit back a moan, squirming. "Who needs sleep?"

" _Me_ ," said Clara. "I'm _tired_." She hissed, her eyes slipping shut as the Doctor began to knead at her foot. 

"So go to sleep," the Doctor said. She scooted closer, pulling Clara's foot a little more into her lap. One hand went to Clara's calf, and she squeezed it. Her fingers were cool, and it was raising goosebumps up and down Clara's leg, the little hairs standing on end.

She'd stopped shaving her legs recently - it was harder to bend over, and it wasn't as if the Doctor cared. 

"I was sleeping," Clara said. She squirmed, as the Doctor reached further up the leg of her pajama bottoms. "In case you missed it. What with you banging on my door for five minutes."

"Does the baby tire you out?" The Doctor let go of Clara's calf, to start rubbing her other foot. Her fingers slid between Clara's toes, and Clara squeezed them, then let her feet relax as well. "Well, I suppose it won't have done so yet, since it hasn't been born yet. Not even keeping you up with crying or kicking."

"The heartburn has been pretty horrible," said Clara. "And the cravings."

"Just ask the TARDIS," the Doctor said serenely. Her hands were making their way up Clara's legs again, slowly, and her eyes kept darting towards the curve of Clara's belly. "She'll give you anythin' you need."

"I asked her to give me Oreos and peanut butter and she gave me _carrot sticks_ ," Clara said, annoyed. 

"I could get you peanut butter Oreos," the Doctor said. "They're a big hit like, three years from your time." The Doctor's fingers were firm as they kneaded the tension out of Clara's calves. 

"I don't want peanut butter Oreos," Clara grumbled, and she was aware that she was being unreasonable, but was too tired to stop. "I want Oreos with peanut butter."

"Aren't they the same thing?" The Doctor adjusted Clara's position, so that her hand was all the way up the leg of Clara's pajama bottoms, moving up towards her thigh. "This would be simpler if you weren't wearing these," the Doctor added, plucking at the hem of Clara's pajama bottoms. 

"Are you just trying to get into my pants?" Clara teased, but it was a lazy tease. 

"No," the Doctor said. "I don't think we'd both fit in 'em. I'm trying to get you _out_ of them."

"So you can continue the leg rub," Clara said, and her tone was mockingly solicitous.

"Exactly," the Doctor agreed. She leaned forward, her hair falling over her face, and Clara floundered forward awkwardly, to tuck a piece of hair behind the Doctor's ear. 

"You're like a tortoise on its back," the Doctor said, then; "ow!" as Clara prodded her in the side with one foot. "Was that an awkward thing to say?"

" _Yes_ ," Clara said, faintly exasperated. 

"Sorry," said the Doctor, and she tugged on the waistband of Clara's bottoms again. "Hips up, please."

Clara sighed, torn between amusement and exasperation. The Doctor, no matter what he or she or they looked like, was always the Doctor. “Really?”

“I’ll make it up to you,” the Doctor said, and she was giving Clara _puppy eyes_. Of course she was shooting puppy eyes. 

“Did you wake me up in the middle of the night for a shag?” Clara asked, scandalized. The Doctor was gently stroking the underside of Clara’s belly with the backs of her fingers. 

“It’s hardly the middle of the night,” the Doctor protested. “Time machine, remember?” Her expression went very soft, as she looked down at Clara’s bulging belly. “It’s always any time at all.”

“You are unbelievable,” Clara said, and she planted her hips, lifting her hips up.

“It’s what you like about me,” said the Doctor, and she was still smiling.

“Doctor,” Clara said, her backside still off of the bed, “I can’t keep this position much longer and I’m gonna go back to sleep if you don’t take my bottoms off soon.” 

“Oh,” the Doctor said, “right. Sorry.” She grabbed the waistband, and she yanked them off. Then she made a surprised noise. “No knickers?” 

“Not to bed,” Clara said, as her pajama bottoms were tossed aside. “I was tired,” she added.

The Doctor made a big show of arranging the pillows over Clara’s back, under her backside. It was cushiony, and, she had to admit, pretty comfortable. It was slightly less comfortable when the Doctor’s forehead pressed against her belly, pressed a kiss to it. The Doctor’s lips were moving, and it was faintly ticklish. 

“I don’t think it can hear you,” Clara said, faintly self conscious. There was an intensity to the Doctor’s expression that was so full of tenderness and... _something_ that made Clara’s chest go tight and hot. 

“She,” said the Doctor, and she was getting down on her belly, between Clara’s spread thighs. Her cheek was warm against Clara’s thigh, and her breath gusted across Clara’s pubic hair. 

“Mmm?” Clara could _just_ reach the Doctor’s hair, silky and warm against her fingers, and she rubbed it between her fingertips. 

“She,” said the Doctor. “Not it.”

“Haven’t gotten a sonogram yet,” Clara said, which seemed to be important. She wasn't sure why, when the Doctor’s warm breath was ticklish across her pubic hair, and the Doctor’s cold nose was right up against her clit. Then it was the Doctor’s fingers, carefully spreading her open. She kissed Clara’s cunt, and then she tilted her head back and kissed the curve of Clara’s belly. 

“I’m better ‘n a sonogram,” the Doctor said, all confidence. Then she was lapping at Clara’s slit, from the entrance to Clara’s clit. She did something clever with her tongue that made Clara’s hips rock forward and up. 

Clara moaned, and she tangled her fingers in her own hair. Her breasts were still being jostled, which… ow, but the discomfort was being overridden by the sweet, desperate pleasure that was skating up and down her back. Her cunt throbbed against the Doctor’s mouth, and her toes curled against the Doctor’s sides. 

The Doctor’s mouth moved lower, her tongue slipping inside of Clara. It was _so_ wet, dripping down her perineum, puddling under her backside ( _there’s gonna be a wet spot_ , some distant part of her thought), slicking up her thighs. The Doctor’s lips fastened around her clit, and the Doctor’s fingers slid inside of her. 

Clara sighed, as the Doctor’s slick, warm lips pressed against her belly again. Her warm, soft tongue rasping across the delicate skin, then a gentle kiss. “Hi in there,” the Doctor whispered, and then there was another kiss, right under her navel. The Doctor’s lips moved lower again, and then they were on Clara’s clit, her tongue working over it in quick swipes. Clara’s thighs spread wider, and her hands gripped at the sheets. 

The Doctor was sucking on Clara’s clit, and the Doctor’s fingers were thrusting into her, spreading open. It was _good_ , it was an overwhelming good that left her heels digging into the mattress and her chest heaving. It was all so _much_ , almost too much, and then the Doctor’s mouth had left her clit, and her belly was being kissed again. Clara would have complained, but the Doctor’s thumb was on her clit now, and the tension that was building and building deep in her gut seemed to climb up her back, using each vertebrae as a rung. There was more whispering, ticklish little lip movements, and then a hot, wet tongue against her clit, and the fingers inside of her were curving.

“Doctor,” Clara gasped out. “Doctor, that’s… a t-t-tease, you’re…” She was pulling harder at the sheets, she was rolling her hips forward now, and she’d have been embarrassed, but she was delirious with tiredness, with pleasure, and the hormones flooding her system seemed to be _moreso_. 

“Mm?” The Doctor pulled off, looking up at Clara through her eyelashes. Her thumb was circling over Clara’s clit, and it was even more of a tease, especially after that glorious suction. The Doctor chuckled when Clara whined in the back of her throat, and pressed another sticky kiss to the side of Clara’s belly. 

_I am going to need such a bath_ , Clara thought. “Don’t stop,” she managed to pant out, “don’t you dare stop, Doctor, or I - _fuck_!” 

“Mmm?” The Doctor’s lips were sealed over Clara’s clit, and her tongue was doing… something. Who knew what. Who ever cared what, except that the Doctor needed to never _stop_ , it was all so much, and there were tears dripping down Clara’s face, as wet as the slick and sweat on Clara’s thighs. 

Clara came. It started low, like the first notes of a song, and then it got bigger and bigger, until it was like a crescendo. Clara’s cunt clenched tight as a fist around the Doctor’s fingers, and her cunt pulsed against the Doctor’s lips. She went limp as the aftershocks went through her, and the Doctor rested an ear against her belly. 

“She liked that,” the Doctor said, and she sounded pleased. “Nice wash of all those feel good hormones.”

“Please don’t talk about my baby liking when I have an orgasm,” Clara murmured, and she yawned. She was languid, comfortable, and when the Doctor came up to kiss her, she licked her own slick off of the Doctor’s lips. “I’ll return the favor,” Clara murmured, “later.” She yawned, wide enough that her jaw cracked, and she let her eyes start to drift shut. She’d need to get up and pee in a moment, but… she could let herself rest for a minute or so, right? 

The Doctor curved against her, one leg thrown over hers, and she rested a hand on Clara’s belly, right by the top. Her trousers were slightly rough against Clara’s bare legs, and her palm was sweaty as it pushed up the hem of Clara’s tank top to access more skin. “Don’t worry about it,” the Doctor said, and she sounded just as lazy as Clara. Then she sat up on one elbow. “I just remembered what I were goin’ to ask you,” she added.

“Mmm?” Clara pulled the Doctor back down, and snuggled in. The Doctor was half on top of her nest of pillows, and she was proper cuddly.

“I was gonna get a midnight snack, and wanted to know if you wanted any.” 

Clara groaned, and she nudged the Doctor in the side with an elbow. “I can’t believe you said that,” she said, then; “could you do me a peanut butter sandwich?” 

The Doctor kissed her on the forehead, and then she was up. “Anything for you,” the Doctor said. “ _Both_ of you.” 

Clara flushed, and it might have been from her orgasm, and it might have been from the Doctor’s words, but nobody had to know, right? She ran a hand over her curved belly, and she let herself sink into her pillows. Her eyes slid shut, and she was still smiling as she drifted to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Is this compatible with canon in any way? No! Was it a delight to write? Yes! I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!


End file.
